Skin
by JenLea
Summary: When it comes down to it, you'll do anything to make the one you love feel better. TrishRandy


Skin

Disclaimer: I own no one!

A/N- This fic deals with cancer, and coping with the effects of it. I have done research and to the best of my knowledge, it is correct. The title comes from the Rascal Flatts song of the same name.

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_At least, I'm alive! _Trish Stratagias thought bitterly, staring into the mirror. She had never thought she would cry, when the side effects of the medication kicked in.

Yet, that morning, when she had woken up to find out her hair had fallen out in the middle of the night, she had cried.

She had cried, because once again her leukemia had taken control of her life.

At first, it hadn't been so bad. She had fought. She had just gotten engaged to a wonderful man. She had been looking forward to a bright future, with him by her side.

Then, the side effects of the chemotherapy began. She grew weak, and tired. Most nights, she was lucky if she felt up to taking a shower, let alone walking her dog.

Just as she got used to this, the nausea and vomiting began. Her house, which she had once loved, became her prison. She hated it there. She hated everything about it.

Yet, the one reason she hated the house that stood above the rest was simple.

The house represented the freedom she once had.

Now, she couldn't leave the house. Her immune system was too weak. There was the ever present risk that she would catch a minor infection that would run rampant in her body.

The only time she got out of the house was for doctor's appointments and chemotherapy.

Randy Orton, her fiancé had stayed with her throughout the entire ordeal. He had vowed to be there for her.

She had offered to set him free. She didn't want him to see her weak and debilitated. He knew what she had been, not what she had become.

_I don't look so bad, _she thought, trying not to cry. She hated it! Why did she have to lose her hair? Wasn't making it so she couldn't leave bad enough?

She had taken being sick with strength. As long as she didn't look sick, she was fine. She knew once people started pitying her, it was over.

Once people saw her new look, they would start pitying her.

Then, life as she knew it would be over.

_Trish Stratus hit's the Chick Kick! It could all be over! _The commentary from the video blared softly in the background. Trish shook violently. She couldn't control it. The match had only been done a year ago. She looked so healthy!

_From that to this! _she thought, trying to keep calm. Getting upset would do no good. It just wouldn't.

The phone rang. Groaning, she struggled to reach for it. It seemed like day after day she grew weaker.

"Hello?"

"Is Trish there?"

"This is she,"

"Oh my God! I didn't recognize your voice!"

"What, Amy?"

"You're a Godmother!"

"What?"

"You and Randy are Godparents,"

"No!"

"Yes! Scarlett Leigh was born three hours ago!"

"Congratulations, Mommy!"

"She was seven pounds, five ounces, and she looks exactly like John!"

"John Cena, a father. Is the world ready?"

"How are you feeling today?"

"I'm tired; I'm nauseous, and bald,"

"I am so sorry."

"Please don't apologize,"

"Why?"

"Please, don't do it,"

"Fine,"

"I think Randy's home. I'm going to let you go,"

"Feel better,"

"You, too,"

Trish hung up. Not turning around, she could hear her fiancé thumping around. She didn't want to face him. She couldn't face him.

It had started with a few mild bruises. Being a wrestler, Trish had thought nothing of it. When she had begun to lose weight, she had taken the bruising seriously.

The diagnosis had not been good. She had Leukemia, Acute Myeloid Leukemia. She wasn't sure what that meant exactly. All she knew was she had cancer.

"Here," Randy murmured, handing her a flute. She turned her head away.

"I can't have alcohol," she said. Randy rolled his eyes. Once again, he offered her the flute.

"Do you think I'd offer you something you couldn't have? It's sparkling apple cider," he said. She sighed, taking the glass. Then, she turned around,

He wore a black baseball cap. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something seemed different about him.

"What did you do?" she asked, smirking. Randy reached up and removed his hat. She gasped, and the flute crashed to the ground, shattering.

"Why did you do that?"

"I love you." he said, kneeling to clean up the broken glass. Trish blinked, unable to believe what he had done. "I wanted to make you feel better," He threw out the shards of glass.

The lights dimmed. What was he up to now? The opening chords of 'Keeper of the Stars' began to play.

"May I have this dance?" he asked. She closed her eyes. Didn't he realize she could barely stand?

"I can't," The words formed on her lips, but no sound was heard. He took her hand.

"If you feel like you're going to fall, tell me," he said. "I'll catch you," Trish nodded, relaxing a little.

As the music began to end, she reached up and touched him. Tears spilled down her face.

She couldn't believe it. Look at what he had done! He hadn't needed to do it. Why was she blessed with such a wonderful man?

Beneath her delicate fingertips, she could only feel soft skin. There was not a trace of hair.

For her, he had did it for her.

For her, he had gone bald.

It touched her heart. While she was in his arms, she knew she would spend the rest of her life with him.

Passionate, haunting kisses, skin upon skin, she would cherish it all.

In his arms, she wasn't sick. In his arms, she wasn't scared. In his arms, she was attractive again.

"You didn't have to do this," she said. He nodded.

"I wanted to," he said, gently touching her head. "After all, I wanted you to see you weren't alone,"

In his arms, she wasn't pitied.

In his arms, she was just Trish.

**THE END**


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